It’s that time of year again... time to celebrate my daughter’s arrival earthside!
My sweet girl had great timing from the first. The year she was born was the snowiest, stormiest winter we’ve had during the decade I’ve lived on the western prairie. In the weeks preceding her birth the snow fell in feet not inches, and when we finally did get a break long enough to plow the road open, the wind drifted it closed again in a matter of hours. Late at night, the wind howling around the eaves, I would awaken with braxton-hick contractions, plagued by visions of giving birth stranded on the side of the road in a snowbank. As my due date approached, we even considered getting a hotel room in town as the 45 miles of open prairie between us and the hospital would have been impossible to traverse during the worst of the weather.
When I did finally go into labor, however, it was a clear night. I looked out the window at the stars, bright as diamonds, not a cloud in sight– what a relief! But I hated waking up two households; my son was only 18 months old, and the grandma that was going to come stay with him was 2 ½ hours away. “Let’s try to hang on until morning, ok?” I asked my bulging belly. So she did. The contractions intensified at first light,
So she did. The contractions intensified at first light, and by the time Grandma Cheryl arrived, I was a tiny bit worried we’d waited too long. Still, that thoughtful girl stayed put until we made it to the hospital and got our paperwork filled out. With the last paper signed, the man of the ranch went out into the hallway to make a phone call, and nearly missed his daughter’s arrival. She was born seven minutes later.
All in all, a stormy, snowy winter wasn’t the worst time to have a new baby. Other than quick trips to the barn, my daughter bundled inside my oversized parka, she and I stayed home. It’s a bit of a blur now — like new mothers everywhere, I never quite fell asleep, and never quite woke up that whole long winter. When I look back, I mostly recall so many diapers and so much snuggling.
Like her brother, Roo was colicky, which made those first few months tough, but having gone through it once already, I knew it wouldn’t last forever. By spring, she had blossomed into the sunniest baby I’ve ever met, smiling in her dreams, laughing before she was even fully awake.
Early in motherhood, people were always telling me: “Enjoy it! It goes so fast!” Exhausted and cranky, I thought they were crazy. Those newborn nights seemed endless. I couldn’t wait to get to the next part, the part where sleeping happened.
But, of course, all I was told has come to pass. Those endless nights DO end, and in no more than a blink of an eye your baby is suddenly five years old. I remember my son solemnly saying: “Not a baby anymore,” upon seeing his sister’s first steps, and thinking, “Wait, what?! You are both still babies!”
I don’t think that anymore. As we sit around the supper table that the kids have set all by themselves, no one needs their chin wiped, or their food spooned out for them. We chat and laugh, and then while the grownups do dishes they take turns running foot races across the living room to see if eating their supper has made them faster.
Meanwhile, we still have only sort of gotten to the part where sleeping happens. (We’ve been blessed with active, exuberant children, who apparently don’t think sleeping in long stretches is a necessity even now.) But, if tired is the new normal, so is limitless joy, with each day an adventure.
I’ll close by saying happy birthday to our sweet December Rose, the rarest of rare blooms. “I was the best Christmas present you’ve ever gotten, right, Mama?” she asked last week.
“Yes, sweetheart,” I replied. “You are the best Christmas present EVERY year.” And I meant it.